


DeskMate

by JenfysNest



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Co-workers, Crack and Fluff and Smut, Dammit Poe, Don’t Shop For Sex Toys While Distracted, Eventual Incredibly Irresponsible and Very Wet Sex, Everything Will Be Okay!, F/M, Gasp! There Was Only One Desk, Inappropriate Break Room Girl Talk, Miscommunication, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-01-28 23:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenfysNest/pseuds/JenfysNest
Summary: Ben Solo has been her deskmate for nine deliciously frustrating months. He’s a little different. Not an asshole, just a tiny bit surly. But a really, really hot kind of surly. And he is actually nice—to Rey—when he deigns to speak to her.But Rey hasn’t let a little thing like a lack of meaningful conversations get in the way of an all-consuming crush. Not at all. Not when he’s always been nicer to her than he is to anyone else, and not when he looks like a raven-haired god who was cast down from Mount Olympus and took on the identity of an unassuming architectural drafter.Rey can’t have her deskmate, Ben Solo, so she orders the next best thing from Amazon. But what happens when her sex toy is delivered to her desk at work and she discovers she forgot to check the box for ‘concealed packaging?’
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 271
Kudos: 1222





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KyloTrashForever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/gifts).

> This fic is a personal prompt fill for KyloTrashForever. 
> 
> She hit me with: Rey orders a salacious sex toy that’s supposed to come in “discreet packaging” but it’s delivered in all its colorfully packaged glory when she’s sitting with her deskmate Ben.  

> 
> A million thanks to Jeeno2 for the beta.

There is an old adage: don’t shop while hungry. The idea being, if you’re walking down the grocery store aisles when all you want is your stomach to be filled, you’re going to splurge and fill your shopping cart with things that are bad for you.

Rey’s sitting on her cellphone, at her desk, when she muses the adage should be amended for the 21st century. The new adage should be: don’t shop while horny. The idea being, if you’re trolling through the sex toy section of Amazon when all you want is your cunt to be filled, you’re going to splurge and fill your online cart with things that are bad for your motivation to actually find a real-life human male to fuck you.

Screw it_—literally—_her sexually frustrated mind thinks as she looks at the man sitting across from her, before repeatedly adding to her cart, and then clicking _ proceed to checkout_.

* * *

“I don’t care what you say, I’m not doing it,” Rey huffs. She’s a little bit hangry and a lot a bit horny—Ben wore a dark red Henley for casual Friday—and Rose is already badgering her before she’s had a chance to eat even a third of her lunch. _ Not cool. _

“Fine, suit yourself. But, when I read a story about a lady who fell in her apartment and was eaten by several of her forty-seven cats, I’ll know it was you,” Rose says, pointing a spork in Rey’s general direction.

The break room is blessedly devoid of other people today and, as such, Rose is being a little looser-lipped than usual. This kind of conversation is usually reserved for her living room couch on a girl’s night rather than the break room at Resistance Design Build. But, Rose is on a roll and god help anyone who tries to stop her.

“Quit being so dramatic. I’m 25 not 75. And I don’t even have any cats.”

“You don’t have any cats—_yet. _ Give it a little more time devoid of dick, and I won’t be able to visit without injecting Zyrtec directly into my veins. Rey, love, I’m just saying—you’ll be very unlaid, very dead, and very eaten by cats, and I’ll send my mental _ I told you so _to whatever version of heaven spinsters go to. Probably the same version of heaven cats go.”

It has been a criminally long time since Rey has been on a date. Even longer since she’s had anything that didn’t vibrate _ 2,700 to 6,800 times per minute _ in and around her lady bits.

Rose is a good friend. Wonderful, really. Rey knows this is all coming with the very best of intentions. Ever since Rose and Finn started dating, Rose has amped up the pressure on her to get out there and get back on the proverbial horse. The proverbial horse being a dick, and Rose was of the mindset that any one would do. It had previously been a lot of _ go to a bookstore and find yourself a sweet nerd_. That didn’t work, so she’s obviously trying a new tactic.

Rey thinks it may be a bit of guilt on Rose’s part. Rey introduced her best work friend and her best friend and they hit it off. And even though now she gets to count Rose as a best friend too, neither Rose nor Finn see her as much as they used to. These occasional workday lunches together are a definite highlight of the week.

“This isn’t some Austen novel. I’m not a spinster. I’m… discerning.” The word sounds weird, hollow, coming out of her mouth. Rey knows it’s a lie and she has a feeling Rose won’t let her get away with it.

“You’re _ pining_, is what you are. And you need to get over it.”

There it is—the truth of the matter. The dreaded _ P _ word. Rose doesn’t ever pull her punches. It’s usually one of Rey’s favorite things about her: she says what she means with a blunt sort of honesty that still manages to be endearing. But, being on the receiving end of one of Rose’s reality checks does little to dissuade Rey from maintaining her delusional daydreams about a certain broad-chested misanthrope.

“Shut up,” Rey grumbles as she takes a bite of a ranch dressing-drenched baby carrot.

“Seriously, Rey. This whole thing with _ he who must not be named _ is beneath you. You’re a freaking goddess and he should be eating you out every day under that desk you guys share.”

“Oh my god, Rose! Seriously?” Rey says, looking over her shoulders to double-check that the break room is still clear of anyone else.

“I said what I said. _ AND _since he still hasn’t gotten a clue and he isn’t servicing you in a manner befitting you, you should get out there and find someone who will. You’re hot as hell and these are the years you’re allowed to make a fuckton of dubious vaginal decisions with guys sporting man-buns and handlebar mustaches.”

“Who has a handlebar mustache?” His voice is so rich and deep, and _ god _ does it do something to her body—shaking up everything inside her and making her heart _ and _ her cunt clench.

Ben Solo has been her deskmate for nine deliciously frustrating months. He’s a little different. Not an asshole, just a tiny bit surly. But a really, really hot kind of surly. And he is actually nice—to Rey—when he deigns to speak to her. But Rey hasn’t let a little thing like a lack of meaningful conversations get in the way of an all-consuming crush. _ Not at all. _ Not when he’s always been nicer to her than he is to anyone else, and not when he looks like a raven-haired god who was cast down from Mount Olympus and took on the identity of an unassuming architectural drafter.

“Holy hell, Solo, way to scare the crap out of us. Didn’t think your—” Rose makes a vague waving motion with the tip of her spork towards and around Ben’s torso, “—bigness, or whatever, would allow you to be capable of stealth.”

“Funny, Tico,” he grunts. “Anyway, who has a handlebar mustache?”

“No one,” Rey adds quickly, hoping for a change of conversation. “How much of that did you hear?” she asks, feigning nonchalance and trying to hide the concern in her voice.

He opens the refrigerator and grabs his lunch bag. It looks nice, fancy, _ expensive_—in other words, it looks very appropriate for Ben Solo.

Rey isn’t a schlub by any means, it’s just that Ben seems so put together in that cool, aloof way that Rey can never manage. His clothes are always perfectly pressed. The clean line in the center of the legs of his slacks has, on many occasions, served as the perfect runway for her eyes to travel—from huge feet to deliciously thick thighs. Rey, on the other hand, is lucky if she gets the chance to throw her clothes in the dryer for a couple minutes for a quick dewrinkling before she slips them on and runs out the door. His hair is perfectly coiffed, while she’s always fighting flyaways. His side of the desk is neat and orderly, Rey’s side of the desk looks like a post-it factory exploded in its general vicinity—candy wrappers and stress-relieving play-doh strewn about like festive detritus. And probably the most glaring difference: he comes from a storied family, and Rey doesn’t even know who hers is.

Rey is pulled out of her musings by Rose’s very full mouth sharing more information than it ought to. “I was telling Rey here that she should sign up for Tinder.” Rey flushes instantly. She can feel her cheeks heat and her heart stutter.

“Tinder?” he asks, in what seems like his typical disinterested tone, but Rey would swear there’s a weird edge to his voice when he says it.

“Yeah. Tinder. You know the place people of a certain age go to find dates. You have a Tinder account, Solo? I bet you _ never _ swipe right,” Rose says resolutely. “Yes. You’re definitely a consistent swipe-lefter.”

“Tinder is for desperate people looking to get venereal diseases.” The scowl on his face is much like his usual resting scowl face, but a touch more intense. A normal person wouldn’t recognize the difference, but Rey is intimately attuned to every nuance in Ben Solo’s scowls. She knows this particular flavor of pinched brow and downturned mouth means he’s _ really _ disgusted right now.

“God, Solo, so judgy. So, you’re not looking for love the way the plebs do it. You already have a girlfriend or something?” Rose asks, with a raised brow.

Rey knows exactly what Rose is doing right now. She’s ferreting out information that Rey would very much like to know but could never bring herself to ask. Rey holds her breath and feels the heavy thud of her heartbeat against her ribcage as she waits what is definitely seconds, but feels like minutes, for his response.

His eyes flick up quickly to Rey’s and then just as quickly to Rose’s, before he clears his throat. “No. Not that that’s an appropriate question to ask, Tico.” He takes his bag and heads toward the break room door. “Afternoon, ladies.”

And with that, he and his fancy lunch bag are gone to who knows where.

Rey has no idea where Ben eats lunch. He’s never in the break room and he doesn’t eat at their desk. Ever. Rey has sat _ directly _ across from Ben for nine very horny months and not once has he ever eaten so much as a cracker at the desk. He has exactly three cups of coffee every single day: his _ before the 9:30am staff meeting _ cup, his _ after lunch _ cup, and his 4:30pm _ before rush hour traffic cup_—all in his stainless steel coffee mug, and all with a very strict adherence to coaster etiquette. Nary a crumb nor a drop ever touch his perfectly pristine half of the desk. Sometimes Rey fantasizes about walking around and sitting on his side—panties soaked through from having clandestinely stared at him all damn day. She’d love to experience the look on his face when she saunters off and he _ sees _ the evidence of what his hair, and his hands, and his perfectly plush fucking mouth do to her day in and day out. But, she wouldn’t. Ever.

Rose shakes her head. “I don’t get it, Rey. I mean, I do get it a little—he’s huge and he’s maybe hot in that intense, broody sort of way, but he’s kind of a jerk.”

“He isn’t though. He’s just quiet, private, I don’t know. He’s just—”

“Your dark, emo, drafting Prince. Yeah, yeah. He _ is _ decent to you compared to anyone else in this place, and I’ve told you a million times to just ask him out, but since you’re never going to, I’m literally begging you to find yourself another guy. Catching you eye-fucking Solo at your desk every day is getting to be obscene. Just get on Tinder. You’ll clean up. I’ll even write your bio. _ Hi! I’m Rey. I’m sweet and hot, I do kegels everyday, and I don’t have any cats. What more do you need to know, fellas? Swipe right_.”

“I don’t even need Tinder. I kind of went a little crazy on Amazon yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah? Anything interesting? You know that fainting goat legs, clit-sucking thing changed my whole damn life. I one hundred percent trust your recommendations,” Rose says with a seriousness typically reserved for more important matters than sex toys.

“Well, tracking says I should get one of them later today. Get this—it’s a confetti dildo.”

“Wait. What do you mean?”

“Okay, so it’s a dildo, but it’s made of clear silicone and there’s bits of confetti sprinkled throughout inside. I don’t know. He was wearing the pink shirt with the pink and purple tie yesterday, and I was feeling in the mood for something colorful. Anyway, it’s cute,” Rey says with a shrug.

“Well, keep me abreast on whether it gets the job done. I might add it to my list of future purchases. Although… I haven’t really needed to use _ anything _ on my own for a little while, and I love that for me. That could be you, too, you know.”

“I see what you’re getting at. Let’s be real though, I’m not finding someone like Finn on Tinder.”

“Well, of course not. He truly is one of a kind. But, you could at least find someone or _ someones _ that would give that ever growing sex drawer of yours a little breather.”

“Honestly, Rose, I’m just not interested. It’s not my style. Plus, I’m not really in the mood for random hookups.”

“I get it. That’s okay. I’ll drop it. But, I’m never going to stop pushing you in that giant man’s direction if that’s _ really _ what you want.” She reaches over and gives Rey’s hand a squeeze. “You are a great person and he would be insanely lucky to have you.”

Rey hears the words and tries to let them sink in. It’s not that she thinks she’s unworthy of Ben, it’s just that she still isn’t ready to be the one who puts themselves out there. Whether it’s every friend she’s ever had, or the few relationships she’s been able to eke out, Rey has never been the one to initiate. The thought of rejection still always looming in the back of her mind._ If your family didn’t even want you, who would? _

Because of Finn and, more recently, Rose, she’s been able to let go of a lot of that kind of thinking, but Ben is… different. She can’t get a decent read on him. Maybe—_maybe _ if he gave her even the slightest indication that he might be into her, she’d risk making the first move—but he hasn’t, so she won’t. The mortification she’d feel every day having to look past her computer and see his face, knowing that she wanted him so bad and he didn’t want her, would be too much. Not knowing is better. Yes, not knowing is just fine with Rey.

* * *

  
Rey’s at the desk for about twenty minutes before Ben walks up to his side and takes a seat. _ God, he looks good in red. _ She crosses her legs out of pure necessity—her cunt reminding her at that very moment that _ yes his shoulders are that broad _ and _ yes, we’d like for him to fill us up_. He sets his after-lunch coffee on his coaster before typing in his login ID and password. She doesn’t know what his password is, but she knows it’s exactly fifteen characters. Most of the short conversations they do have, happen before he logs into his computer, so those fifteen keystrokes always ring out in her ears as the end of any _ possibilities_—and she dreads every last one.

He’s typing for just a few minutes before she can hear him start to fidget. Ben Solo isn’t a fidgetter. Every move, or action he takes is sure and direct. Curiosity takes a hold of her, and she slyly peeks past her monitor and sees him readjust his stapler _ four times _ before he takes in a deep breath and then… _sighs_. Loudly.

It’s an altogether foreign sound and Rey can barely believe her ears. Ben Solo has five sounds: the feigned polite chuckle, the _ I am uncomfortable talking about this _ throat clearing, the annoyed grunt, the condescending snort, and the bemused hum. A deep sigh is not in Ben’s repertoire of sounds. Something serious is going down right now, and Rey is completely out of the loop. Maybe Holdo gave him grief about something when he was coming back from lunch. Rey is just about to gather up the courage to ask if everything is okay, when Ben speaks.

“Hey, Rey.”

She scoots a bit to look directly at him past their computer monitors. He looks… _flustered?_ _Angry? Sad?_ She doesn’t quite know how to place his expression, because it’s so unlike any she’s ever seen him wear. It instantly makes her heart lurch, and she just starts spewing words. “Are you okay, Ben? Did something happen with Holdo? Is it about the drawing for the Raddis project? Did she not like it? I thought it was really inspired.”

“You did?” he asks, interrupting her verbal frenzy and sounding more than a little surprised, before shaking his head and changing the subject. “Sorry. No. It’s not about that. It’s—you know—I’m sorry. Just—ever mind.” He drops eye contact with her and resumes shuffling his stapler from one location to another.

Rey knows she _ has _ to find out what’s going on with him. She absolutely will not survive the weekend if she doesn’t. Her head will _ worst case scenario _ whatever it is he was just trying to say but couldn’t, and she’ll go crazy before Monday morning comes. So, Rey does something she doesn’t ever do with Ben. She pushes for more.

“Ben.”

His eyes find hers again and he lets out another sigh.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Ben opens his perfect, plush mouth and is just about to answer when Poe’s voice sounds out, right behind her shoulder. “Sunshine!”

Her head snaps in his direction. Poe is well-meaning enough, he’s just always a little too much—too loud, too friendly, too close—just _ too much_. And he’s exactly zero percent self-aware.

Ben lets out his annoyed grunt and stops whatever he was going to say. Rey is going to _ kill _ Poe.

When he rolls his mail cart around to the edge of their desk, he has the biggest shit-eating grin Rey has ever seen, plastered across his face. “So, Sunshine, I’ve got a special delivery for you—”

At his words, Rey forgets everything that was just happening with Ben and remembers her package. The only one that she _ knew _ she was supposed to be receiving today. She looks at Poe and his grin and… _ he couldn’t know, there’s no way he can know—_

He bends down to the bottom of his cart and grabs a box. A box that is decidedly _ NOT _ a nondescript, brown, cardboard Amazon box. No. This box is white and pink, and before her brain can process what is happening, Poe plops down the box festooned with confetti—and bearing the image of a giant confetti dildo on the front—right on the edge of the desk.

Rey just stares, and stares, and _ stares _ at the bright box. Perhaps she isn’t moving because she can’t move… because she is dead. Honestly, death might be a welcome alternative to what is, in all probability, actually happening at this moment, which is Poe fucking Dameron, slightly skeevy mailroom attendant, just dropped her colorful dildo on the desk she shares with Ben Solo—right in his line of sight.

When Rey is finally able to peel her eyes off the box, several things happen in quick succession. First, she looks to Ben who has _ definitely _ seen the box and its contents, if his deeply blushing face and ears are any indication. He’s already started his _ I’m not comfortable with this conversation _ throat clearing. _ Bloody hell. _ Then she grabs the box and shoves it under the desk. Then—_then—_she looks at Poe. And if looks could kill, she’s certain Poe Dameron would be dead where he stands.

Poe, however, doesn’t get the hint. He just smiles that kind of gross, and definitely inappropriate, Poe smile. “So, I had an ex who had one of those and she said the quality of the silicone—”

“Poe! Stop. Just—Stop—Poe.” She must sound upset enough for him to actually feel chastened, because he flinches and then his face blanches. Poe Dameron with an actual look of contrition on his face is a sight to behold. Rey would probably relish it if she wasn’t so mortified at the moment that she’s already thinking about cities she could move to that are good for architectural engineers.

“I thought these came in the little brown boxes,” she hisses. “They always came in little brown boxes before.”

“Oh.” He bows his head down and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Umm, if you want that, you have to check the box that says ‘choose concealed packaging.’ If you don’t, sometimes it’s sent directly from the manufacturer in its uhh… original packaging.”

Rey is an absolutely avid concealed packaging user. She lives in an apartment building and there’s no one to accept packages. After the third one was swiped off her welcome mat, she started getting everything shipped to work instead. She is religious about always checking that little box. How could she have missed it? Oh. _ Oh_. It was probably because she was distracted by Ben and his stupid perfect striped tie that matched his stupid perfect pink shirt… perfectly. I mean what kind of man wears a pink shirt with a pink and purple tie? A really secure one—that’s what kind. It just screams: I am secure in my manhood because my manhood is just as big as the rest of me.

Oh god. She didn’t check the box because she was distractedly thinking about Ben Solo’s dick.

When the realization sets in, she just groans. “Well, are they all going to come like this?” she asks, her voice as low as she can get it without going so low she invites Poe to lean in any closer.

“_All? _How many did you order, Sunshine?”

Her voice is venomous when it leaves her mouth. “If you call me Sunshine one more time, I cannot be held responsible for what I do to you. Do you understand me?”

She actually hears Ben’s patented bemused hum and for some reason, it calms her. The bemused hum is good. It’s her favorite Ben sound.

“I’m sorry, _ Rey_. I understand you. To answer your question, whatever you ordered with this one will also come in its original packaging if it’s being shipped by the manufacturer. If it’s shipped by Amazon directly, it’ll be in a brown box.”

“Okay. So, here’s the deal, Poe. Don’t bring any more of these kinds of packages to my desk. Ever. If I get something _ obviously _personal, keep it in the mailroom and call me on my extension. Got it?”

“Got it. Hey, I’m sorry, Rey. You know there’s nothing wrong with it. A woman your age, it’s natural—”

“POE.”

“Okay, sorry. Sorry. I’m just gonna get out of your hair.”

And with that, he grabs his cart and continues on his rounds.

Silence descends. The really awful, awkward kind of silence that only comes when something so mortifying has happened that it feels like sound ceases to exist just so the victim is spared any possible further embarrassment.

This is the worst. Rey wants to cry, but she can’t. She can’t, because Ben Solo has given up any pretense of not paying attention to every slow breath that Rey is breathing in and out. She can see him in her peripheral vision looking and she’s _ waiting_. Waiting for him to smirk, or to laugh, or to call her out on the dangers of having _ fucking sex toys _ shipped to her work. But, he doesn’t. He just lets her sit in silence. She fights back the tears as she shoves the box into her tote under her desk, logs out, and stands to make for the elevator.

“_Rey_.”

The way he says it. It’s not what she was expecting at all. There’s no humor or malice in it. There’s just—_concern_. And that is enough to do her in. She’s just able to turn towards the elevator before the first tears start to fall. She lowers her head, making sure no one can see her face, and she doesn’t move to wipe the tears until she’s in the elevator and the doors have closed.

She’s going home. She’s going home to drink a whole bottle of wine, and try to forget what is without question the most embarrassing experience of her life.

She’s just about to climb in her car, when she hears his voice again, this time breathless, “Rey, wait!” But, she can’t. She can’t look at what will probably be pity on his face. No. She has to go home, crack open that wine and eat a whole wheel of Brie. She’ll worry about work and Ben on Monday.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for this update taking so long. I kind of had to go on a post-TRoS writing hiatus. I’ve been in Ben Solo emo hours for months and the words just weren’t coming. 
> 
> I’m feeling a little more like myself and my brain is now cooperating in providing snarky, smutty Reylo again. 🙏🏼 
> 
> I sincerely appreciate every reader who reached out in the comments and on twitter to let me know that they enjoyed the story and were excited for the conclusion. It’s always great to know that people enjoy your words. 💜
> 
> I had to up the chapter count because smut is coming up after this, and I can’t skimp on the smut. It is my writing affliction. 
> 
> Anyway, this was all to say: thanks for reading, and thanks for sticking with me while I processed my Ben Solo feelings.

* * *

  
It’s Monday morning and Rey is pushing the button for the eighth floor—their floor, hers and Ben’s—and she is_ just fine_.

She spent the entire weekend holed up in her apartment drinking Chardonnay right out of the bottle, eating brie by the wheel, and going through the entire Kübler-Ross grief cycle in the span of two days.

First, there was denial_. _ Maybe, just maybe, despite the fact that Poe very clearly, very _ stupidly_, set her giant confetti dildo on her desk—maybe Ben hadn’t seen it. Maybe his reactions were all due to his annoyance at Poe’s general… Poe-ness. In all the time they’ve been working together, and all the mail deliveries Poe has made to their desk, Ben has never given Poe anything other than the annoyed grunt or the condescending snort—a clear indication that Ben finds Poe at least as insufferable as she does. But it took Rey less than the first bottle of Chardonnay and half wheel of Brie to disabuse herself of that particular delusion. _ Ben definitely saw. _ The undeniable blush on his face as soon as the silicone monstrosity was set down was a pretty clear indication that he got a big confettied eyeful.

Next came anger. Poe _ fucking _ Dameron. Poe Dameron who is admittedly quite easy on the eyes, but who has the common sense and emotional IQ of a goldfish—_no_, that’s an insult to goldfish—he’s got the mental and emotional faculties of an amoeba. Yes. That’s better. A fucking protozoa. Poe _ my ex had one just like that and says the quality of the silicone is great _ Dameron, who carted around a dildo up eight whole stories to set it on her desk in broad daylight—in clear view of her obnoxiously attractive deskmate—is a moron. An unequivocal simpleton. _ Fuck Poe Dameron. _

Bargaining happened after the rage subsided a bit, and that was arguably the most pathetic stage—absolute peak drunken delusion. Rey, who hasn’t stepped foot in a church in her entire life, and for whom the entirety of her religious knowledge comes from the 700 Club episodes the shittiest of her foster mothers watched before her daily soap opera binge—_that _ Rey, was wondering how exactly this whole God thing works and if he/she/they(_?_) would be able to turn back time or somehow erase Ben Solo’s memory of Friday afternoon. Her perfunctory childhood catechism by Pat Robertson was in no way helpful in trying to reach any deity at all in hopes for some divine intervention.

The depression stage was definitely the most wine-heavy. There were tears. Lots of them. The memory of the feeling of powerlessness, of utter embarrassment that she felt at the desk, washing over her in suffocating waves. Remembering how her heart stuttered and her stomach dropped when Poe set down that box. Wondering what it would have been like if she had just _ said something _ to Ben before Friday. Wondering if maybe he could have looked past the things that set them apart and taken a chance on her. Wishing that she had taken a chance on _ him _ and told him how she felt. Wishing she had let go of that nagging fear of being rejected, or even worse, of being loved—of getting a taste of _ not _ being alone for once—only for him to inevitably come to his senses later and discard her. Crying the hardest when she let herself believe for a second that maybe he wouldn’t have.

Eventually, after an emergency delivery from Whole Foods on Sunday afternoon to replenish her dwindling supply of fruit (wine is made from grapes—grapes are fruit—fruit is good for you) and dairy (Brie is made from milk—milk is rich in calcium—calcium is important for the prevention of osteoporosis), she finally settled on acceptance. _ It happened_. Trying to deny it was useless. Being angry about it would get her nowhere. Formulating a plan to deal with it was what was most important.

She pulled up every architectural design firm within a thirty mile radius and was scrolling through open positions when she had a moment of clarity. Rey loved her job and she was damn good at it. She had achieved so much in her time there, and she wasn’t going to give it up over a sex toy and an unrequited crush. She was an adult, dammit, and as an adult, she decided her best course of action was her _ usual _ course of action for emotionally compromising events: avoidance. It’s her favorite, her most tried and true coping mechanism, and unlike the Amazon packaging service, it has never let her down.

Ben is incredibly observant and also conversation avoidant, which used to be something she hated—always desperate to get more words out of him, but now his quiet nature is just what she’s going to need to keep her wits about her. She is certain that once she makes it clear the entire episode needs to be wiped from their collective memory, he will oblige her this one thing. He absolutely will.

So, yeah. Rey is going to give Ben her prepared speech, and then she’s going to get him to agree to pretend like Friday afternoon never happened. She’s going to get off this elevator, take a seat at her desk—_their _ desk—and be a paragon of professionalism.

The bell dings, the elevator doors open, and _ Rey is fine. _Her apology speech is memorized. She’s dressed smartly—her ass looks fantastic in her pencil skirt, and that in itself gives her the strength of ten men—and ready to adult. She’s only taken two steps off the elevator when—

“Rey!” The sound of Rose’s voice booming in the open space is enough to make her stagger back. Rose makes her way towards her at a clipped pace, weaving in between folks milling around before the day really gets started. “Oh my god, Rey,” she says in a rushed whisper while entwining her arm in Rey’s and pulling her into an empty conference room, closing the door behind her. “What the hell? I saw you run out of here on Friday and Solo run after you. When he came back up he refused to talk to me about it. Then I get a cryptic text from you about needing the weekend to think. What in god’s name happened?”

“Ben didn’t say _ anything _ to you? Nothing at all?”

“No. When he came back up, he just looked _ weird_—worried, maybe. I’m not sure. You know how Solo is—hard as fuck to read. Anyway, he took Poe aside and looked like he was about to toss him out a plate-glass window. I’ve never seen Poe look so scared in my life. It was actually kind of funny, really. But when I asked Solo what was going on, he just said it wasn’t his place to discuss it. I didn’t know if you guys got into some sort of fight. I thought maybe you told him how you feel about him, and he was a dick, and of course that meant I was going to have to murder him. I still will. If he was mean to you, Rey, I swear to god, I will cut his—”

“No. No, he wasn’t mean. I didn’t say anything to him about how I feel.” Just saying the words make Rey’s eyes prick with the effort to keep the tears at bay and her eyes clear._ I didn’t tell him, and now I never can_. “He didn’t do anything wrong. It was a mistake _ I _ made. It’s actually a funny story,” she lies. “It’s not a _ talk about it at work _kind of thing, but maybe we can do a girls’ night sometime this week and I can tell you all about it.”

Rose doesn’t quite look convinced. “Rey—”

Rey gives her the most reassuring smile she can muster and interjects to reassure her. “I swear, Rose. I’ll give you all the gory details when we have some time to ourselves. We can go to that tapas place with the pitchers of sangria. That is, if Finn will spare you for a night.” Rey knows bringing up Finn is guaranteed to change the subject—Rose never wasting an opportunity to bask in the sweet glow of her new relationship.

“I don’t think he would mind. For a night,” she says with a sly smile. “Might give him a little time to miss me, absence making the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Good. It’s settled. A girls’ Thirsty Thursday then. I’ll give you the whole rundown. Anyway, have you… Have you seen Ben yet?” It’s a point of fact that Ben gets to work before her every single day. It’s actually something that usually gives her an early morning boost of adrenaline—seeing him in whatever shirt he challenged to contain his chest and shoulders for the day. Who needs espresso when you have Ben Solo’s enormous arms to give you an early morning pick me up?

“Oh, yeah he was actually here super early. Also, since he wasn’t a dick, I’m sure you won’t mind me telling you he looks super good today. And he’s wearing your favorite,” Rose says with a smile.

“The pink?”

“Yep.”

“He wore the pink Thursday. It’s what got me into this whole mess.” Rey thinks back to the pastel pink ensemble he was wearing when she was too focused on his chest, and not nearly focused enough on her shipping options.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Anyway, he’s even wearing a suit jacket and everything. Really sharp. Maybe he’s got a big meeting with Holdo. Maybe he killed Poe over the weekend, and he’s dressed for the service. Who the hell knows. But he’s here.”

“_Fuck_.” This wasn’t going to be easy. Having Ben being just Ben is hard enough. Ben in the rare suit jacket is liable to turn her brain to literal mush. She needs to _ focus _ if she wants to make it clear to him that Friday’s events are to be forgotten without embarrassing herself any further in the process.

“I’m going out with Finn today, but tomorrow we’ll do lunch in the break room and you can tell me how Solo’s broad shoulders heaved with every keystroke or whatever horny thing your mind conjures up. Deal?” Rose asks as she turns around to open the door.

The sound of Rey’s co-workers happily chatting about their non-mortifying weekends bleeds more and more into the quiet conference room with every inch the door widens. “Sure. Deal.”

* * *

She broke Ben Solo. Rey realizes this irrefutable fact as soon as their desk comes into view.

There are always exactly nine items on Ben’s side of the desk at the start of the day: his computer monitor, his keyboard, his mousepad—he replaces it every three months and it’s always plain black, nary a design to be seen—his mouse, a black stapler, a memo pad, a pen—usually black and typically a fountain—a coaster and his phone. That’s it. Ever.

But as she makes her way towards their desk she can see there is something else on his side of the desk. Some kind of bundle of paper. It’s currently on the other side of Ben’s giant body, and she can’t quite make out what it is, but she doesn’t really need to. She just _ knows _ it’s not supposed to be there—first check mark in the: _ I broke Ben Solo _ column_. _

The next thing she realizes is he’s sitting there in his perfectly tailored suit jacket and he’s… talking to himself?_ Holy fuck. _ It’s even worse than she thought. Rey is immediately saddled with the knowledge that a confettied sex toy managed to completely upend the delicate balance that she and Ben had reached in their shared space over the last nine months.

He’s still too busy with what looks like recitation of a pitch (maybe that’s why he’s wearing the jacket, she tries to convince herself), but is probably him actually practicing his _ either I go or Rey goes _ speech to Holdo, to notice her walking up to the desk.

Rey finds that despite the delectable way his suit jacket fits, she just can’t take her eyes off of his face. There seem to be a million emotions that flit across it as he mumbles to himself. It’s fascinating to watch. He’s always so stoic sitting across from her that nearly every expression she sees as she walks toward him is one she’s never seen from him before.

It isn’t until she’s _ right there, _standing at the edge of the desk that he finally looks up. And for that first instant when he’s pulled away from his muttering and sees her standing there expectantly, he looks… vaguely terrified.

“Good morning, Ben.”

“Rey—” he starts, while standing quickly from his chair.

She cuts him off before he can say anything else—anything about the…_ incident_. _ She _has to be the one to make perfectly clear where things stand. It’ll be easier for him if he doesn’t feel obligated to express pity or second-hand embarrassment or whatever it is one has to do in order to keep working with someone once you’ve seen the kind of heavy machinery they use to make themselves come.

That is if he even wants to keep working with her.

“Can we speak in private?” Her voice comes out funny. It’s a little too high, too squeaky, and she’s a bit breathless—whether from the quick walk over to the desk or the image of him looking like sex incarnate in a suit, she can’t be sure.

“Oh. Uh—sure. I actually wanted to. Do this in private, I mean,” he stammers.

Rey is so disgustingly gone for him that even with everything going on, she still instantly feels a frisson of excitement at the way the word _ private _ rolls off his tongue. She quickly has to tamp it down. _ Focus, you indecent ghoul. _

It’s just that the thought of being anywhere private with Ben while he’s literally never looked better—not a hair out of place, the pink of his shirt calling to mind the pink of his stupidly perfect mouth, and his jacket, well fuck, every small movement of his muscles is accentuated by the tailored fit—is enough to set her inconveniently horny brain alight.

“Okay, so—Well, I know where there’s an empty room. Just, um, follow me.”

She turns on her heels quickly and practically sprints to the conference room she was just in with Rose. She doesn't want to even chance a glance in his direction as he follows behind her, instead using the brisk walk to the conference room to try to steel herself against the upcoming onslaught of Ben Solo’s tailored broadness.

Rey opens the door, allowing Ben to walk past her into the room. She shuts the door behind them, taking just one second to gather her breath and her wits before she turns around to face him.

Maybe it should make it easier the way he looks at her—so nervous and unsure. Gone is the usual air of aloofness that has always made him feel so damn unattainable. But the timid look on his face has the opposite effect. It makes her weak. Her stupid mistake has managed to make him so skittish. His anxiousness radiates off of him in waves. She just wants to _ fix _ it. To soothe him.

“Rey, I really wanted to talk. I wanted, well more like needed, to tell you that I really—”

“Ben, just let me speak first, _ please_.” She has to get the words out and hopefully spare them both any further embarrassment.

He looks at her and she can see his hesitation, his mouth working in that way it does when he’s biting his tongue, but eventually his posture softens and he motions for her to continue. “Sure. Yes, go right ahead.” He’s looking at her so expectantly, so openly, that it tugs at something inside. She just desperately hopes her previously prepared—and drunkenly practiced in her bathroom mirror—speech is the right thing to say.

“So, obviously I made a shipping error when I ordered a private package, and I apologize profusely that you had to witness its delivery. I am sincerely sorry if bearing witness to my dil—_delivery _has caused you any discomfort—”

“Jesus, Rey, it’s really not that—”

“—or has caused any irrevocable harm to our working relationship.”

His body suddenly stiffens for some reason and Rey can sense that perhaps things are already starting to go sideways.

“Our working relationship,” he says flatly.

Panic starts to bubble up inside her. She charges ahead with her prepared statement. “Yes. Obviously, the ideal situation would be for us to completely forget the events of last Friday and to keep things strictly professional. I feel we have a good rapport going and I’d hate to muck it up because things best kept to our private lives made their way into the work environment.”

“Oh.” She sees the way his face falls suddenly at her words before he’s able to mask it, and Rey can’t help but to think that she’s managed to say exactly the _ wrong _ thing. That her concession is lacking in some way. But, Rey doesn’t know what more she could have said to fix this for him. Unless…

She hopes she hides the hurt as she forces out her next words. “If you feel that’s an insufficient solution and are still uncomfortable, I would be willing to meet with Holdo and discuss changing desk assignments. It—”

“No!” His answer is so rushed and so loud Rey can’t help but jump in shock. His hands suddenly reach out and grab her arms to soothe her. It doesn’t escape her notice how huge they are—how _ warm_. He softly moves them up and down her arms and... _ Ben is touching her. _She realizes this is the closest they’ve ever been. She could just lean in and lift her body to her toes and she could know what his mouth tastes like, know if it feels as soft as it looks.

She feels a slight tremor in his hands even as he tries to steady her, and she’s pulled back into the reality of the situation and guilt hits her again. Her silly mistake has made him so jumpy.

“Sorry, Rey. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just there’s no need to do that. It’s really okay. I don’t want to change desks. I don’t want either of us to change desks.” She watches as his eyes search her face for just a second before he takes a small step back and his hands let go of her arms. She has to will herself to not chase their warmth. “We can keep things the way they have been. Professional. It won’t be an issue. I promise. Our current arrangement has been… suitable for me.”

At least this is a small mercy. They may be stuck in a conference room beating around the bush of her hand-delivered dildo, but he isn’t looking to get her fired or remove himself from her very presence.

She takes her own step back. Giving herself even more breathing room. “Good. God, Ben, thank you for taking all this in such stride.”

“It’s really fine, Rey.” He pauses for a second and his voice is soft again, wavering, when he says, “But, I think I’d like to get back to work now, if that’s alright with you.”

“Right. Of course. Thank you again for being so understanding, Ben.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Exactly. We’ll never mention it. Like it never happened.”

And that’s it. Conversation over. An awkward silence descends before it occurs to Rey that since she started this clandestine little meeting, she should be the one to end it.

“So, I think it’s best if maybe you head out before me, and I’ll head out a bit after,” Rey says. There’s confusion in his face when his eyes find hers again. “You know, so no one sees us together. I don’t want anyone to make any inappropriate assumptions about where we ran off to. Or wonder what we were talking about alone. This isn’t exactly normal for us.

And just like that his detached aloofness is back. She can see the shift written across his features, can sense it in the way all the emotion and tension suddenly get sucked out of the air and, like a flick of a switch, he’s back to being the usual standoffish Ben Solo.

“Of course.” And without another word, he turns and lumbers out the door.

Rey takes a few minutes to give him some time to settle, but also to calm herself. To get her heartbeat back to something resembling normal. To try to forget how good his hands felt on her body. She has to go back to sitting across from Ben Solo, and no matter how hard it will be, she is just grateful she has at least that.

She takes some deep calming breaths and makes her way back to her desk. Ben is already typing away, his suit jacket is off (a pity), and he doesn’t bother to raise his eyes when she pulls out her chair to sit down. Rey also notices that everything is exactly back where it should be. Gone is the bundle of paper that was on his desk earlier, and from the stapler to the memo pad, everything is in its usual place.

It should lend even the tiniest sense of normalcy to this very abnormal situation, but it just… doesn’t.

It takes Rey three attempts to log-in because she’s so frazzled—her fingers are shaky as they make their way across the keys, her nerves are frayed, and her traitorous vagina still hasn’t quite gotten the memo that Ben Solo is well and truly off limits after this whole dildo fiasco.

_ Work. _That’s what she should be doing. Instead she halfheartedly scrolls through her inbox trying to wait a sufficient amount of time before she can start using her peripherals to check on how Ben is holding up. He’s sitting ramrod straight in front of his monitor, and she can’t see anything. Rey tries not to sulk.

* * *

The morning goes by in much the same way it always did before, but it also feels _ different _ somehow. Ben had said everything was okay, that he didn’t want to get a new deskmate, but the air is charged with something Rey can’t put her finger on. It makes things tense in a new sort of way. It used to always be _ horny_-tense for Rey sitting across from Ben. Now there’s a different sort of tension, and it’s coming from _ him. _Rey can’t help but be concerned that despite his assurances, he really won’t be able to get over the events of Friday. He seemed earnest when he told her it was okay earlier, but Rey knows something is off.

She is working up the courage to say something, anything really, just to cut the weird unease that seems to have settled over their desk when her phone rings. A quick look at the caller ID and Rey can’t hold back the long sigh that rushes out unbidden.

“Hello, Poe,” she says, the receiver pressed to her ear.

Even though she can’t see him from her current position behind her monitor, the unmistakable sound of Ben’s chair moving combined with the sudden pause in his typing immediately clue Rey into the fact that Ben is listening.

“Hey Rey. I wanted to let you know that your other, um, _ packages _ are here.”

“Okay.”

“It looks like these did ship from Amazon directly so they’re in the proper boxes. I guess I could bring them up if you wanted but, um—I was wondering… is Solo there?”

Rey’s eyes dart over to Ben’s side of the desk. She can see his hands resting on his keyboard, but they’re just sitting there while he remains absolutely silent. “Yes. Why?”

“Oh, uh, no reason. I was just thinking maybe for today you wouldn’t mind coming to the mailroom to pick these up. If that’s okay, of course.” Poe sounds so damn fidgety her mind is wondering what the hell could possibly be going on. That’s when she remembers what Rose said earlier: _ he took Poe aside and looked like he was about to toss him out a plate glass window. I’ve never seen Poe look so scared in my life_.

“Sure. I can pick them up. I’m leaving in a little bit for lunch. I’ll grab them then.”

“Excellent. Wow. That’s great.” There’s no mistaking the sound of utter relief in Poe’s voice. Ben must have really done a number on him Friday afternoon.

“Is there anything else, Poe?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to apologize again. It was a boneheaded move bringing your uh, package up there like that. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I just wasn’t thinking.”

He sounds sincere, and Rey softens just a bit at his apology.

“It’s okay, Poe. I know you won’t let it happen again.”

“Right. Scout’s honor. Definitely learned my lesson and sure as hell got an earful about boundaries. I will never make that kind of mistake again.”

“Good.”

“So, before I let you go, I was wondering if you expected any more packages this week.”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Good. Great. But, uh, if there happens to be one for you this week would you mind maybe picking it up? Just for the next week maybe. So there’s a sufficient… cooling off period for, you know, _ everyone _ involved.”

“Sure. I can get them. Just call if something else shows up.”

“Thanks, Rey.”

“No problem. Bye, Poe.”

She sets down the receiver and hears Ben clear his throat and start typing again. She decides to wait him out. There is zero question that he was keenly interested in what was being said in her phone call, and she figures it’s only a matter of time before he brings it up.

She goes back to trying to work on a proposal that is due to Holdo at the end of the week, figuring she might as well do _ something _productive. The problem is she can’t stop thinking about the fact that Ben obviously defended her to Poe. Between Rose’s comments this morning, and Poe’s skittishness on the phone, Rey imagines Ben becoming angry in defense of her and the image it conjures up in her mind of a firm and dominant Ben is enough to have her crossing her legs under the desk and forgetting all about the engineering proposal.

It takes less than ten minutes for Ben to break. She hears a small sigh, then his voice, deep and rich as ever ask, “Did he apologize?”

Rey tries to sound as nonchalant as possible as she answers. “Yes. He did. Seems he _ got an earful_—it’s how he put it, at least.”

“Well, just so long as he apologized properly.”

“_Ben_.” Rey scoots her chair over so she can finally get the first good look at him since he left the conference room earlier that morning. She’s staring pointedly at him, taking in the beautiful profile of his face—his aquiline nose, that distracting full mouth—but he hesitates just a minute before his eyes leave his computer monitor and find hers. When they do, they are so soft it takes her a bit by surprise. “Thank you. Thank you for whatever it was you said to Poe.”

“It’s really no problem, Rey. It was the right thing to do.” And with that he starts to stand. He puts on his jacket and pushes in his chair.

Knowing his schedule as intimately as she does, Rey knows he’s headed into the break room to grab his fancy lunch bag and head wherever it is he heads to eat. “Lunch?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m actually heading out too. For lunch.”

“Yeah? Got any plans? Maybe something with Tico?”

“No. No plans. Just brown-bagging it. The usual.”

“Right.”

It’s all he says while he stands there for maybe just a few seconds too long. Rey is just about to ask if everything is alright when he cuts in.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit.” There’s a curious expression on his face. Rey has seen so many of these new looks today that she shouldn’t be surprised anymore, it’s just hard when you’ve studied someone so intently for nine whole months and then suddenly there are so many new things to discover.

“Yep. Enjoy your lunch.”

“You too, Rey,” he says quietly, before he heads off in the direction of the break room.

Rey waits a few minutes and fires off a couple emails before logging off. She figures a sufficient amount of time has passed for Ben to have grabbed his lunch and left. She still wants to be mindful and give him space if he needs it. She pushes in her chair and starts walking towards the break room when she remembers she told Poe she’d pick up her packages.

Rey knows she ordered three other toys, and since she had to park in the far end of the back parking lot this morning and she also can’t be sure how big the boxes are, she heads back to her desk to pick up the tote bag she leaves on the side of her desk. With the bag she can grab all her packages and run them out to the car really quick before heading back up and grabbing her lunch.

As she bends over to grab the tote from its spot by her desk, Rey’s eyes happen to fall to Ben’s trash can on his side of the desk. In the trash can she sees the bundle of paper she remembers from this morning. The one she couldn’t quite make out. The one that _ didn’t belong_. But, whereas this morning she had no idea what it was, looking in the trash can now she realizes that wrapped in that bundle of paper was a bouquet of flowers—peonies—her absolute favorite.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter at [Jenfys Nest](https://twitter.com/ancientcityjenn)


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